The Junk Heap
Many were the wonders of the lost renaissance. In few places is this better reflected than in the majestic and terrible Junk Heap; an enormous graveyard of toys. But these were no ordinary children's playthings. In a vein of creative thought similar to the origins of the Kemono, a company known as Hyperion Entertainments Ltd. had the clever idea of developing truly intelligent toys which could play back with their owners- though unlike the Kemono, humanoid perversion never corrupted their function or development. Necessity of violence did that instead. As the Wars progressed, parents feared for the lives of their children; and rightly so. Many factions cared little for the lives of the young, indeed there were many who took a perverse pleasure in torturing and snuffing them out. Hyperion swiftly realized that their fancy toys, while expensive, had potential to be more than mere playthings. Simple modifications could not only reduce costs and allow them to sell more, but they could make their creations serve as full time guardians. A robotic dinosaur could be made to breathe flames, teddy bears could grow claws and fangs and become terrible monsters on command, action figures could spring to life and wield kitchenware, life-sized dolls could be made stronger than most adult humanoids and programmed to be lethally efficient soldiers in far less time than it would take a person to learn how to fight. Minor enchantments to protect the toys from wear and tear increased their durability dramatically. Hyperion became the wealthiest corporation on the planet inside of twenty years, for as long as that would last. As the Wars seemed to hem Terria in, the population slowly but surely became ever more closely knit. Wealthier families and individuals would hold massive parties and picnics, making them open house affairs, and ensured that every guest regardless of social standing went home with at least one of Hyperion's marvous protector-toys. It would ultimately prove to be a wise decision in the long run. History recalls the invasion of Terria on so many dozens of fronts a mass of shock, awe, and horror- but this was only true for the living. The protector-toys produced by Hyperion, gifted with varying levels of intellect, were not only unsurprised by this but well prepared for such an eventuality. Their single-minded obsession with the safety and happiness of their owners driving them on, the eldest and smartest of these soldier toys had been making plans for what they knew to be inevitable since their first owners took them home. As the masses of living humanoids panicked, the toys began marching through the streets. With inhuman speed and purpose they began evacuation procedures, directing people to pre-designated safe zones and caches of supplies. It is believed that these efforts initially saved the lives of hundreds of millions of people, giving many zones within Terria any ability to fight back at all. But the toys had not planned to provide the living a chance to fight, they had desired to evacuate them to safe haven. This proved to be impossible, they had not calculated on so many factions attacking all at once. Suddenly faced with a problem far greater than they had anticipated, the war-toys were forced to plan B: all out offensives against the invaders to buy more time. The Toy Army had many factors working against it. They were small, as a result of being so expensive to build. Only people-sized dolls and toys, such as the Tin Troopers, could hold and wield humanoid weapons with any real efficiency. Maulerbears and others bestial toys had claws, but these were little more than an annoyance to a raging demon. The real strength of the Toy Army was in their durability- every toy was capable of swiftly repairing themselves of battle damage. Even the most bloodthirsty Orc would give pause when they saw pieces of a stuffed animal ripped apart by gunfire crawl together, stitch themselves up, grow six inch claws, and charge back into the fray. This allowed the toys to fight on almost indefinitely, all but unstoppably. But as the years passed and the Wars only got worse, the toys came to a most depressing realization- no matter how hard they fought, there would be no escape. Not for them, nor for their masters. Desperation set in shortly after this realization. Eventually, the Toy Army was forced into a very literal corner, a few hundred miles from Receitva's southeastern borderwalls, couple hundred miles north of the Prickleburr Swamps. By this point the toys only had one mission left, one last charge given to them by their owners: defend the next generation. The Wars would be over soon, or so they were told. As casualty rates climbed, the task of raising children may well have fallen squarely on the toys' shoulders. So, their little army spent years gathering children of every race, anywhere they could be found. Gathering supplies, gathering other toys, equipment, and so forth. But an army of half a million does not move unseen, and the attention of a succubus known as Irenzul was attracted. Irenzul knew the toys were up to something, and the things had been a thorn in the side of her and her dark masters for some time. She decided to investigate, and discerned the nature of their mission with ease. Being a particularly cruel demon, Irenzul decided to hit the irksome toys where it would hurt the most, so she could deny them a glorious last stand and inflict delicious suffering upon them. Tactically, this ended up being an unwise decision- Irenzul and her army was ultimately crushed by the fury of the Inquisition, but not before the damage had been done. The Toy Army found itself trapped, unable to escape- if they tried, Irenzul and her demons would pick off the children with ease. Every escape route was cut off. Nowhere to run, no help to call upon, and not enough numbers to make a daring breakthrough with. The demons simply dug in and waited, and the toys had no other options but to do the same. The toys themselves were unphased by Irenzul's strategy, but the supplies gathered for the living could not hold out forever. Famine and weather became the toys' worst enemy, forcing them to watch in abject horror as their wards slowly wasted away from malnutrition and cold before their clockwork eyes. The younger and less self-aware toys did everything in their power to entertain the children. Others began clinging to them, trying to use their bodies to keep them warm; hoping against hope that they could do something to ease the suffering. Some wonder, in retrospect, it might not have been for their own peace of mind, desperately trying to fulfill their original purposes as objects for joy and happiness. No one knew what happened to the Toy Army when the children died. No one knew for several centuries, until about a hundred years ago in fact, when a company of erstwhile Freelancers working for the Reclamators stumbled across it. Small mountains of ancient toys, heaped upon each other in the thousands, huddled against the ruins of buildings and vehicles. Most of them ruined by the long years of disuse and weather. Little skeletons poking through here and there; their frail, bony arms wrapped around the prettiest and fuzziest of toys, which seemed to cling to them with sad and mournful faces. Statues of clockwork soldiers standing tall and proud, defiant of Nature's forces, watching over the heaps like gargoyles. Unfortunately the Freelancers made the most grievous possible error, and attempted to take some of the toys away- and in so doing, disturbed the bones of the dead. The toys did not particularly care for the intruders, but they did not mind at first. For many, it was nice to see the faces of people again.. But when they disturbed the bones of the children- their children- entire heaps sprang to life. Toys maddened by centuries of doing nothing but brooding, dwelling, clinging, and lamenting their failure tore half the company to pieces in the space of a few minutes. All would have been slain, and this story never recounted, were it not for the actions of the older toys that had not lost their sanity, one in particular being more important than all the rest. It called itself Solomon. General Solomon; first, foremost, and finest of the Tin Troopers, the most skilled and dangerous war-toys ever produced. It was by Solomon's orders that the toys ceased their assault, knowing better than to disobey his command, but still they cried and roared for the blood of the hated intruders who had the audacity to touch their wards. But Solomon seemed to know, seemed to understand. These living meant no harm, he even deduced that they were explorers sifting through the ruins, looking for valuables or curiousities. The surviving Freelancers immediately began begging forgiveness, having no idea of what they had done, even offering to go and bring priests for proper funerary rites. The old Trooper spared their lives, and the other toys begrudgingly accepted the organics' offer, if only so that the bones could finally rest in peace undisturbed. Solomon even gave them one of his compatriots to take back with them- a toy whose mind was so far gone that it was effectively an inanimate object. And so the Freelancers left, praising Solomon for his mercy and kindness. Though puzzled by it, they dared not linger on such hallowed, dangerous grounds- others would come after they had gone. And others indeed came, curious about the Toy Army, curious about Solomon, how he retained his mind when so many others had not. Even he isn't sure how he has, though, and nor does he care. All that matters, in his mind, is that all of this is his fault. He was the one that led the Army here, he was to blame for the deaths of the children, and it was therefore his responsibility- his duty- to stay there and watch over the broken-hearted toys until time and entropy finally decide to claim his clockwork life. There are few who dare trespass in the Junk Heap, these days; at least without good cause. A wretched miasma of sorrow, hate, and pain lingers over the place, almost tangible, and oppressive. Few can tolerate the empty, hateful glares from the motionless piles, or the growling sounds just out of earshot that always seem just a few feet behind and yet have no apparent source. Even hardened hearts are often warded away, simply from the sound of a thousand voices sobbing and mourning softly carried upon the breeze. Noteworthy Characters: General Solomon Frazzled Nanny Featherbottom Nappy the Maulerbear Back to Terria Back to Main Page